Morioka’s gaze grew flinty.
I pressed on. ‘One record might be false. But the truth is disclosed by many others. I’m talking about the Diagnostic Referrals, the Autopsy Requests and the Infirmary Inspection Results.’
His face drained of blood. ‘You’re actually quite intelligent. Fine. I knew you were persistent, but if you figured that out, you’ll understand what we’re doing. I’ll tell you what you want to know.’ Morioka lowered his voice, as though to soothe a cranky child. ‘My medical team is in the process of developing revolutionary medical techniques. If we succeed, we can drastically lower casualty rates on the battlefield. This will be a new era for medicine.’
‘What are the techniques?’
‘We’re looking for a new substance that will replace blood. The war is getting more serious. Blood is what the injured need most. So many good soldiers haemorrhage to death on the battlefield. Even if they’re transported to the hospital on time, we have a severe shortage of blood for them. So we can’t operate. If we can substitute blood with something else, we can save thousands of soldiers’ lives. As well as civilians’.’
‘There’s a substance that could take the place of human blood?’
‘Blood is largely composed of plasma and blood cells. Of those, there are white blood cells, red blood cells and platelets. Plasma is mostly liquid and various proteins and blood-coagulation factors.’
I nodded.
‘Like I said, we don’t have enough blood. If the platelets, which are the most important component, could be manufactured, we can change the direction of the war.’ Morioka’s voice trembled.
My heart pounded. ‘So you’ve created blood?’
‘We’re in the process of developing a saline solution to substitute for platelets. It has similar sodium levels to bodily fluids and is composed of similar substances to platelets. Currently it’s used to replace fluids for patients who are ill or injured. We’re tinkering with the concentration of the saline. That’s what we’re using to develop a platelet substitute.’
‘But saline solution is basically salt and water,’ I murmured, frowning. ‘How can that take the place of blood?’
‘If one isn’t knowledgeable about medicine, like you, one would think that we are killing people, not saving them,’ the director said breezily. ‘That’s why we work under high security. Don’t worry. We’re reviewing all side-effects as we conduct experiments on human adaptation to varying saline concentrations, resistance to sodium concentrations and infections.’
‘But the side-effects are not diminishing.’
‘Well, I told you we’re still working on it. And we’re conducting detailed diagnostic checks to ensure that abnormal reactions are treated. You saw how we give arithmetic tests, right? That’s the best way to determine overall neurophysical function. We can instantly determine the effect of foreign substances in the subjects’ bodies.’
I finally understood everything. They were experimenting on people. I’d led unsuspecting Koreans to a laboratory of death. I could tell my face was flushed. ‘The Kyushu Imperial University medical team is conducting human experiments that kill healthy men! Now I get it. You came here because you needed people to experiment on.’
Morioka smiled. ‘I understand what you’re saying. You’re still young. Why, you’re not even twenty years old! Look, Yuichi. The world isn’t black-and-white. It’s tough and complicated. This research could save the lives of many, many soldiers. All the women and children dying in air raids.’
Tears coursed down my cheeks. I was ashamed and enraged. This wasn’t right. However lofty the cause, we couldn’t do this. We couldn’t toy with one person’s life, even if it benefited many more. I squeezed my eyes closed.
The director patted my shoulder gently. ‘Listen carefully, Yuichi. The people we need to save are the Empire’s soldiers and civilians. The people you’re crying over are Koreans who have committed very serious crimes. They’ve set fire to police stations. They have thrown bombs at the Emperor. They’ve cut Japanese throats. You know what I mean?’
I didn’t. How many people had to die? When would this all come to an end?
Morioka continued. ‘They’re evil spores growing in our society. Cancerous tumours taking over our bodies. They’ll eventually take our lives. Do you know what the treatment for cancer is? You cut it out. You remove it surgically. But the cancerous cells keep growing, damaging healthy cells and ruining the entire body. Who do we need to save? Should we let countless Japanese die, just to save some cancerous fellows?’
Time clattered into the deserted space around me. The golden pendulum of the grandfather clock swung mechanically, wrenching my heart with it. ‘Who are we to decide who gets to live and who ends up dead?’
‘You know this place is a graveyard for Korean prisoners anyway. So many die before they finish their terms. Don’t you think their lives would be put to good use if they could teach us something in death?’ Morioka smiled. ‘There’s no difference between a dying man and a dead man. I’m telling you, the prisoners are on their way to the grave anyway.’
Was he right? Could this terrible situation be even more complex than I thought?
FRIGHTENING TIMES
It was loud inside the fabric workroom. The washing machines spun manically, the sewing machines clattered, the guards shouted, the prisoners grunted and moaned. Here, prisoners mended tattered military uniforms with bullet holes; their owners were probably no longer alive. I’d searched for a way to get Dong-ju out of the medical treatments, but as yet I hadn’t found a solution. The best I could do was move him to the dye-team, in charge of dipping cloth into the dye-baths. At least here he was indoors. As Dong-ju pulled a cart heaped with faded uniforms, a loud siren sliced through the shriek of steam; it was time for break. Dong-ju backed away slowly and squatted near the dye-bath. Other workers were collapsed in exhaustion near the window on the opposite side. The guards stood to one side, smoking and laughing.
Dong-ju dipped a finger in a can of dark-navy paint under the dye-bath. He scrawled something on the dirty wall, before wiping his finger on his uniform. He looked at me with relief. He stood awkwardly in front of the wall, hiding the words. A guard was watching suspiciously from the other side of the room. I took out my club, approached Dong-ju and whacked him on the thigh. He winced and lost his balance. The guard turned around and started talking with the others again. Dong-ju whispered to me what he’d written for my benefit. ‘Sky, Wind, Stars, Poetry.’ I nodded in unspoken promise. If he lost all his memories,
I would bring him here to these words. Even if he couldn’t remember, I would tell him that he was a poet, and would always be one. That I remembered his poems, that I was safekeeping that part of his soul. A smile bloomed on his face, unsullied and strong. I stood in front of him, facing out, so that the guards wouldn’t see his face. That was the only kindness I could offer.
Dong-ju’s health deteriorated rapidly. During our time in the interrogation room he spoke less and less, uttering only half-formed sentences and tangled thoughts. Our conversation was like Morse code: a long silence interrupted by a short dialogue, leading to an even longer silence and an even shorter exchange. His spark was vanishing, like the last breath of a dying man. Eventually our conversation ceased entirely — silence, longer silence and, finally, endless silence. I wasn’t sure if he was choosing not to talk or if he couldn’t. His memories had scattered like fallen leaves; thin winter branches were all that were left, leaving behind a barren tree yearning for a bygone summer. Dong-ju no longer recalled his brilliant past; he merely suffered through empty time.